


Pnigerophobia

by Karkahn



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: General Unpleasantness, Kidnapping, M/M, Pre-Slash, eventual slash, kinkmeme fill, somebody help Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karkahn/pseuds/Karkahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme fill.<br/>Hannibal Lecter has gone missing and all the FBI has is a grainy video feed of the good doctor suffering miserably in an unknown location.  Time is running out and somehow Will has to discern the motivations of his psychiatrists captors and where they're holding the man who is slowly breaking before their eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any characters from the Hannibal fandom. But god did I wish I did.
> 
> Kinkmeme fill! Original request was:  
>  "Hello! I've watched I Am Dina, Open Hearts, A Royal Affair, and Mads Mikkelsen crying is too darn sweet and it does things to me. Sads Mads <3
> 
> So here's my [cruel] prompt: Some nasty, sadistic bugger captures Hannibal and hurts him. A lot. Okay, so they flat out devastate him. The big meanie often sends the FBI video of the ever worsening condition of their favorite psychiatrist. As the footage count grows, Hannibal goes through stages that lead to his decent into a pitiful state--sobbing and begging uncontrollably for Will and Jack to please help him, find him, etc. I'd prefer it if he didn't want to be 'put out of his misery,' as I personally think he loves himself too much to ever actually want to end his own existence. He just wants and, really, needs to be saved. Up to you what's done to poor Hannibal to force him into this highly undignified and piteous state, what the sadist behind the camera wants, who they are, why they chose Hannibal, how much insight into what's been done to Hannibal is given in the videos and all the wonderful details.
> 
> -The outline to where my soul used to be if the 'director' never speaks, instead using Hannibal to voice their desires/points/whatever  
> \--My fresh organs prepared however you'd prefer if it's not cracky but done in-character oh my goodness"
> 
> Unbeta'd and dirty, all errors are mine and mine alone.
> 
> For anyone who has seen my frostiron work, it's not abandoned, merely on hiatus!

Will's just stepping out of his classroom when Jack appears, a large shadow that the profiler has been waiting to darken his doorstep for a few days, because a week of peace is too much to ask from Jack Crawford, but this time he looks grimmer than usual as he stares Will down and curtly orders him to the car and follows it up with the simple statement of, “I need you.” The scruffy empathy feels a frown tugging at his lips, but Jack offers nothing else, not when they climb into the car, a bit grudgingly on Will's part because he does have his own, and not when they begin driving.

The silence unsettles Will, makes him feel wary and unbalanced even after they arrive at headquarters and he's led into a room, Alana already sitting there, face white and pinched, Will can't tell if she's going to be sick or cry. Judging from the red around her eyes she's already done some of the latter. A glance at the single screen beside the far wall shows the reason in fuzzy pixels and hitching video. Will feels his stomach sink as he takes in the sight of his psychiatrist slumped against a wall, his wrists high above his head, suspended by what looks like chains hooked on the greyish wall, but the video is so grainy he can't be certain from the first glance.

“When was the last time you saw Doctor Lecter?” Jack asks as Will stares at the screen without really seeing it.

His throat feels dry as he forces it to work. “Thursday.” The profiler forces out, it's Monday. “He came over, brought me dinner and sausage for the dogs.” Will had been surprised by that, sure the doctor had fed the animals a couple of times at Will's request, but he'd never once mentioned any sort of like for them, at least not enough to bring them treats. But he had, he'd brought fresh sausage, explaining to Will the habits of the pig it had come from and how he'd selected it from his butcher specifically with his pack of mutts in mind. The memory makes Will's chest hurt a little as he watches the doctors head slowly loll back, twin dark spots that are his eyes tracking something off camera.

“We got the link to the feed yesterday afternoon.” Jack reveals, and Will's gut clenches in the first stirrings of hot anger that no one had bothered to tell him sooner. “The guys in IT can't track it, every time they start to get a trace on the location it changes. It's been every where from downtown to Russia. You were the last one to see Doctor Lecter, he spoke to Doctor Bloom before going to see you, which means that this bastard may have had up to three days to get this set up.” Jack doesn't say anything else, he doesn't need to. Whoever has taken the psychiatrist could be nearly anywhere in the country, or even up in Canada by now.

“If the proxies are changing...” Will starts, throat working spasmodically. “Does that mean whoever took him has help?”

“Probably.” Is the gruff response he gets as Alana sniffs loudly.

On the screen Hannibal is still staring at something, or someone, off camera, dead-eyed and unbending, he seems nearly immovable despite the fact that he's literally chained in place, and now that his head is raised properly Will can see one wound around his neck as well, looped around twice with the free end of it dangling down his chest. It takes the profiler a moment to grasp what he's seeing.

Hannibal Lecter has a choke chain around his throat like he's a disobedient puppy.

A dark blur moves across the screen, and it takes a few frames for the camera to catch up and clearly show the figure of a person, swathed in a formless black robe and what Will swears looks grimly like an executioners hood. One hand grasps the loose end of the chain and the other presents something to the doctor, shaking a little, demanding Lecter's attention. But dark eyes barely glance at it for a moment before that dead-eyed stare is back on the individuals hood. The hand shakes again, what Will finally gathers to be a cue card, but the doctor doesn't even so much as glance down.

It's Alana that yelps when the chain is suddenly snapped, pulling taunt around Hannibal's throat, digging into the flesh and muscle. Will feels his stomach lurch as the lines of the doctors neck stand out, straining against the metal and his jaw tenses, even through the fuzzy frames he can tell that the mans face is beginning to discolor before the chain goes slack and the sound of Hannibal's heavy panting and retching fills the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbeta'd, still own nothing.
> 
> Feedback is love! :D

It takes three days for Hannibal to finally speak. Three days of the feed being recorded, of watching as every half hour on the dot, the robed figure reappears and prompts the doctor, only to be snubbed and they watch in horrified silence as the psychiatrist chokes and strains against the chain that tightens around his throat. Once the hand is too close and Alana makes a muffled noise of surprise behind her hands as Hannibal lunges, biting hard through the black glove until he's strangled into unconciousness.

Will hadn't been sure how they were keeping Hannibal there, sure his arms were chained above him, but what was stopping the doctor from simply standing and freeing the taunt metal from the hook above? The answer came the first night he had seen the feed, when the lights went out and the infrared enabled, they watched as he clambered to his feet, only to spasm as soon as the tension left the chain and the hook on the wall raised. A sick feeling rolled through the profiler as he realized that Hannibal's weight was keeping a proper circuit from being made, that every time the doctor tried to free himself the metal would connect and the current racing through the psychiatrist would drop him back to the floor every time.

It's three heart wrenching days that he watches Hannibal slowly wear down, watches the tension return to his frame every half hour when a dark figure sweeps into the frame. Three days of stoic silence before a card is presented before the doctor, who blinks down at it slowly before he licks his dry lips and rasps out,

“We see you.”

The hair on the back of Will's neck is standing on end and the room is silent, Jack standing stiff near the table, Beverly is at Will's side, half bent over to set a styrofoam cup of coffee at the profilers side. It's like everyone is frozen, staring at the screen as Hannibal wraps his lips and tongue around the words before him, accent thicker than usual, sharpening the consonants and dragging out the vowels.

“We see you, Will Graham.” The doctor starts to turn his head away, but a quick snap of the chain around his throat brings his attention back to the cards in front of his face but Hannibal refuses to say more, lips pursed and breathing hard through his nose.

From the corner of his eye Will can see Jack puffing up. An involuntary cry from the speakers draws Will's full attention back, a mark is blooming on Hannibal's chest and the doctor is sagged, held up only by the chain on the wall and Alana hisses “Son of a bitch.” from the opposite end of the table.

“It's not enough to keep choking him like a dog, now they're kicking him like one too?” She seethes, bristling and indignant as they watch the cards be thrust under Hannibal's nose again, and for a second Will expects him to bite, watches his lips curl back like a hungry wolf, but those dark eyes flicker to the hand holding the make shift leash and instead he begins to speak again. Hannibal's voice is weak, raw and thready, but the words that leave him are foreign and already Jack is barking for someone to get a translation. 

Somewhere off camera a young mans voice cries out, “Make him say it in english!” The hooded figure turns, presumably to look at the individual before lashing out, the toe of a boot as dark as the robe connects with Hannibal's ribs, and the room cringes when they hear something crack and the psychiatrist cries out again.

“Where was he taken from..?” Will asks as the chain goes taunt, biting his lip as Hannibal's face discolors, and after a minute his eyes roll back.

Jack is silent until the chain goes lax and Hannibal is slumped and unconscious again. “We found his car a few miles outside of the city with the keys still in the ignition.” He says quietly. “No hair or fibers inside except for the ones belonging to Doctor Lecter. His phone was on the seat but it had been wiped down, no useable finger prints.” There's a beat of silence before Jack finally asks, “What did he mean they see you, Will?”

The profiler swallows hard and shakes his head. “I don't know.” He breathes, and the admission makes his gut clench uneasily.


End file.
